Chapter Text
Bular hated waiting. It was one of the things that frustrated him to no end. If you wanted something done you did it, why wait? Yet he found himself waiting, with the night waning, wasting precious time, for his father and Stricklander to make up their minds about whether or not to strike a small fleshbag village that was near the cave system the Gumm-Gumm’s were camping in.
A final meal before the battle that would decide the fate of trolls and humans. Bular couldn’t wait, he wanted nothing more than to crush Arthur and his metal clad knights to dust. And it would happen, if what the witch Morgana had said was true and Stricklander would herald the eternal night and bathe the world in darkness. But Bular didn’t trust her, predictions. He trusted them about as much as he trusted the Wizard Merlin.
He huffed, his breath misting in the cool night air, as he gazed out at the forest, from where he stood at the cave mouth of the temporary camp of the Gumm-Gumm’s. And caught the two Gumm-Gumm’s stationed at the cave mouth staring at him.
“What are you looking at?” he snarled. The Gumm-Gumm’s eyes widened and they turned away quickly, Bular tried to find their names but they eluded him, all the Gumm-Gumm’s looked the same anyway, and there was no point trying to talk to them, they were just stupid brutes that did as they were told. He was alone. And he liked it like that.
Sighing he reached behind him and drew out one of his jaw boned swords, scrapping it on his arm to sharpen the blade, he was becoming restless and impatient, if his father and Stricklander didn’t come out soon he would go and raid the fleshbag village himself. Stricklander could keep his dumb rules to himself.
Bular was so focused on sharpening his sword aggressively on his arm that he almost didn’t notice the Warlord and General’s approach. “Son.” Gunmar the Black greeted, “We are ready.”
“Finally. I was about to go myself.” Bular grumbled, effortlessly slotting his blade back in its sheath.
“Always so impatient. As ever you think only for yourself and not the greater number, you must consider all angles Bular.” Stricklander rumbled, coming to stand next to his General. To the casual observer Stricklander did not appear nearly as threatening as Gunmar, he wasn’t a massive, intimidating troll with brute muscle power, he wasn’t even that tall, he was in fact slightly shorter than him. But the Warlord, or Spellcaster as he was often referred to as, was powerful in a much more subtle way.
It wasn’t that Stricklander wasn’t threatening to look at. His wings were immense black and green edged folds of quivering energy, strong enough to knock down even the most sturdy of trolls. And his runes, glowing yellow lines of magic, were carved all over his lean body, that made his yellow eyes appear razor sharp and dangerous. His horns were just as impressive, heavy ivory backwards facing things that curled out from his skull, he had two pairs, but the second was half hidden by the bristly length of his coal black mane, which ran from his head all the way down to his elbows.
The only thing that lessened his fearsome visage were his long mobile ears, a novelty amount Gumm-Gumm’s, that tended to show his emotions when he was angry, which wasn’t that often, Stricklander was infamously known for being cold and calculating, as emotionless as a blank granite wall.
Bular found it disturbing. But he knew better than to tell that to his face, for all his bravado, Bular was terrified of the winged troll, even Gunmar was sometimes. And that wasn’t because he was their king, or because of his knife sharp intellect, although that could be pretty terrifying, it was because of his magic.
A troll was a being made of magic, true, but they shouldn’t be able to wield it as if they were a master Wizard, it was unnatural. But nevertheless, Stricklander used it.
Of course he had heard the rumours. Every Gumm-Gumm had. That their famed saviour had at one point in his life lived under the same roof as Merlin the immortal. Until he was inevitably betrayed and left to die in the woods. And it was then Gunmar had found him, nursed him back to health and become like a brother to Stricklander. They had joined the Gumm-Gumm army together and risen up the rankings rapidly. Gunmar eventually overthrew Orglak the Oppressor, losing an eye in the process, and ruled the Gumm-Gumm’s for a time. Until Stricklander wanted the throne for himself. He challenged Gunmar and won, making Gunmar his first General.
Yet Gunmar was secretly bitter about his throne being snatched from his claws so quickly and the relationship between the two trolls was forever changed. Basically Bular didn’t trust Stricklander, Morgana, Merlin and any other magic users.
He rolled his eyes at Stricklander’s comment of ‘Considering all angles’ and growled, “Whatever. I just want to kill and eat some fleshbags without thinking every minute detail out.”
He flashed his tusks in a challenging sneer and Stricklander narrowed his eyes, “Watch yourself Princeling, you forget your place.” His eyes then turned to Gunmar, “Where is Aarghaumont?”
Gunmar curled his upper lip at the mention of the third in command, “He declined joining us, he said he would try and convince the trolls of Dwoza to fight with us, he has yet to return.”
Stricklander’s ears twitched, the only outward sign he was suspicious of what exactly Aarghaumont was doing. “He has become soft. When he returns make sure to tell him he had better get himself together for the coming battle, if not I have no use for a weak general.” Stricklander stated coldly.
Bular uncomfortably rolled his shoulders, Aarghaumont was one of the few Gumm-Gumm’s he liked talking to, he didn’t want to hear about Stricklander’s plans on what to do with him, “Let’s just go. We’ve wasted enough of the night.”
Gunmar chuckled, “Patience son, learn it and your enemies will fear you.”
Bular smiled, “They already fear me father.” Stricklander snorted. Bular glanced at the Warlord sharply but he didn’t even blink, instead called to the two Gumm-Gumm’s waiting behind the three fearsome trolls, “Strig, Ash, call the others. We’re leaving.” The Spellcaster demanded.Obediently the two soldiers bowed and padded into the cave to ready the hunting party.
Bular had no idea how Stricklander remembered the Gumm-Gumm’s names, but it made them more eager to follow Stricklander without Gunmar using the Decimar blade he had won from Orglak. It was impressive, Bular had to admit to himself. But also unnecessary, why bother with respect when you could beat fear into them?
There was a sudden crack of thunder and Stricklander glanced up at the sky, his nostrils flaring, “Rain is coming, we should attack now. The fleshbags won’t know what hit them.”
Bular thumped his tail on the ground, “Finally.” He muttered as the hunting party emerged from the cave. Now they were twenty six, a more than adequate number for a strike on a isolated village.
They set out, silently stalking through the overgrown shrubbery and weaving in-between thick oak trees until the light of fires came into view. The village, if you could call a bunch of mud huts surrounded by a wall that, consisted of about one hundred humans.
More than enough for everyone. Bular pitied the rest of the Gumm-Gumm’s, they wouldn’t be feasting on anything as substantial as human meat. Once out of the dense forest Stricklander slowly spread his wings, the leathery membranes stretching to their impressive full extent, the smattering of holes and tears in the edges a patchwork history of fights won and lost. Stricklander glanced at his waiting squadron of hungry Gumm-Gumm’s and whispered in a gravelly growl, Wait for my signal and then let us feast.” And with a powerful thrust of his wings he was in the air, the downbeat pushing Gunmar and Bular back.
His form soon became a blur of black and green and then he dived into the heart of the village. There was a hushed silence for a minute and then a flare of golden mage fire lit up the surrounding forest. That was the signal.
The Gumm-Gumm’s charged, Bular dropped to all fours and barrelled ahead of the other trolls, his father included, the familiar blood lust rising in his gullet. The village came into view and Bular quickened his pace, smashing through the humans flimsy defence wall with a booming roar. Immediately a male human dressed in leather armour lunged at the dark prince with a barbed spear.
Bular easily batted the weak weapon aside and grabbed the man by an arm, lifting him into the air to inspect. Bular snorted, savouring the scent of fear on the human before biting his wailing head off with a satisfactory crunch of bone and gristle. He dropped the body and made quick work of it, instead of sating his hunger it merely made it into a living thing inside his stone body, demanding more to fill him.
Bular looked around, Gumm-Gumm’s were everywhere. Eating, fighting and burning the village simultaneously. At this rate there wouldn’t be any left for him.
Scowling, Bular plodded through the blood splattered and muddy ground, managing to kill and eat another two fleshbags with leather armour and stealing another from a lazy Gumm-Gumm who had a horde of bodies. In all this time Bular only saw his father in passing, clutching a screaming female fleshing in his claws.
Bular found eating female humans and whelps unsavoury. Mainly because of fleshbag children looking like troll whelps, with their large eyes and clumsy limbs they could almost be considered cute. He only ever ate females if they attacked him, which was rare.
Anyway, every Gumm-Gumm had their preferences, but Bular did notice those who supported Gunmar , secretly of course, tended to follow his eating habits, while those loyal to Stricklander followed his. Bular was appalled to realise he was more alike to Stricklander in this regard.
The Warlord only ate warrior humans, he claimed it was because females tasted too sweet and children didn’t have any meat on them but Bular suspected Stricklander found it as unsavoury as him. But he wasn’t foolish enough to say such a thing out loud. He sighed, shaking his head and sniffed deeply, searching for another fleshbag to sink his tusks into.
After a minute or two of sniffing Bular caught a scent. Male, and from the smell, injured. Smiling triumphantly he stalked purposely after the scent, leading him away from the fires and trolls and screams, back towards the gate he had trampled in his haste to get inside the village.
Bular stealthily dropped to all fours, creeping closer to a limping man, his leg leaving a trail of blood on the ground. Bular licked his tusks, this was too easy. With a victorious shout he barrelled the man over and lifted him up slamming the fleshbag into a cracked wall. The human gasped, the whites of his eyes showing, a stark contrast to his soot covered face and grimy black beard and mane, hair, Bular corrected himself. He didn’t bother trying to put a name to whatever it was the human was wearing. Inwardly shrugging, Bular prepared to kill the human, but a weak and terrified voice calling out stopped him.
Bular peered over his shoulder and saw a tiny fleshbag whelp gazing out from the safety of the forest. Safe thanks to Stricklander’s dumb rule about letting humans who had escaped the village go and not wasting time and energy trying to catch every single fleshbag. So that whelp was being incredibly foolish. Well, no matter.
And then the whelp cried, “Father!” Bular froze, glancing at his prey and then the child. It almost reminded him of himself, in wanting his father’s approval. But this was completely different, why was he even hesitating? His grip tightened and the human yelled, “Go! I’m sorry son.” He closed his eyes, stopped struggling and awaited his fate.
Bular roared...
...And released the man, who thudded awkwardly to the ground. “Get out of my sight before I change my mind.” Bular snarled in a dangerous rumble. The man scrambled up, staring at the Gumm-Gumm prince in incomprehension before running away.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” Bular hissed, watching as the human embraced his whelp and then slipped into the woods together. He can’t have just let a human go. What was he, a human loving pacifist troll? Why doesn’t father ever embrace me like that? A jealous, bitter part of him whispered. Bular shoved it down in irritation. It almost made him want to chase after the fleshbag and eat him.
His father didn’t even brush foreheads or pat his shoulder, let alone hug. Bular couldn’t remember the last time Gunmar had shown him any affection and it hurt. Not that he ever let anyone see how much it affected him. All he knew was that it made him weak enough to spare a fleshbag, a creature that was prey, food and occasional pest. Bular snorted, never mind, he was anyway feeling sick.
Something about humans always disagreed with his stomach. He loped away, just as the sky opened up, sending a deluge of rain to the ground and flattening Bular’s mane to his back, not sparing the human and his whelp another second of thought. He made his way to the centre of town, or what remained of it, nothing was left except a pile of rubble and a few remains of dead humans.
To his surprise Stricklander was standing there, fingering something small and shiny in his talons. Bular had a feeling he was infringing on something private and silently edged away, out of sight but still watching from behind the side of a crumbling mud shack.
The object in Stricklander’s talons looked like a silver chain, with a bird shaped pendent, delicate and human made. Why would the scourge of mankind have something so obviously created by a fleshbag?
Stricklander sighed, his wings dropping and dragging against the ground like a great leathery cape as he gazed up at the smoke shrouded night sky. He huffed and tucked the silver chain into a pocket seen into his loincloth, the protective scale armour that protected his thighs clinking softly.
Bular didn’t understand what he had seen. Surely Stricklander wasn’t displaying a moment of weakness? He growled, as he suddenly realised just how dead he would be if discovered to be spying on the Warlord of the Gumm-Gumm’s.
He backed away and something crunched beneath his feet. Stricklander’s head shot up, his nostrils flaring as he turned to face Bular’s hiding spot, his runes flaring a brilliant gold, his black pupils consumed in yellow as he snarled, “Come out Bular, I know you are there.”
Bular froze, wondering frantically where on earth his father and fellow Gumm-Gumm’s were as stepped out from his hiding spot, quickly dropping to his knees in a submissive bow, “My lord. Forgive me, I didn’t see anything I swear.”
Stricklander came closer, red, human blood smeared across his face like some barbaric war paint, making him appear ten times as savage. “Trolls only ever say that when they have seen or heard something Princeling. Do not try and device me.” He spat, magic crackling around his form like lightning.
Bular’s eyes widened slightly and he rasped softly, “We all have our moments of weakness.” Wrong thing to say! His mind howled at him as Stricklander snarled, his mane bristling and wings rising. Bular had finally gone too far and was about to pay the price for being so insolent. Never mind he was Stricklander’s second in command and son of his first. Gunmar probably wouldn’t care anyway.
And it was precisely at that moment his father arrived, freshly skinned human skulls hanging from his belt. He appeared not to notice the tension between Bular and Stricklander, or chose to ignore it. He clapped a heavy clawed hand on Stricklander’s shoulder, “We have feasted well tonight brother. We are as prepared as possible for tomorrow night and the battle against Arthur.” The Gumm-Gumm General rumbled.
Stricklander nodded tensely, his eyes not leaving Bular’s. “We have indeed. Although your son seems to be forgetting his place more and more often.” Bular tensed as his father’s eye turned to him, “Bular. You listen to me, I will not hear of another bout of insolence. You may be my son but you are still a Gumm-Gumm soldier and as such you listen to Stricklander.”
Bular growled, “Yes father.” Gunmar nodded and Stricklander gestured for him to come away from Bular, probably to talk about what a disgrace he was.
Bular didn’t care, all he wanted right now was to curl in his nest, out of the rain and go to sleep. And not think about sparing fleshbags or why Stricklander had a silver, human made chain, or think of his father’s coldness.
The coming battle would need all his frustration, confusion and anger.